


Tell Me I Am Good Enough

by theskylarshippers (coyotestoryteller)



Series: Curses (Cacophony Springs) [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Polyamory, eliza & john are besties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotestoryteller/pseuds/theskylarshippers
Summary: John's missing. Alexander and Eliza go to find him.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, John Laurens & Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Series: Curses (Cacophony Springs) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749340
Comments: 5
Kudos: 63





	Tell Me I Am Good Enough

It’s cold and cloudy in Cacophony Springs. Sensible people would not leave the house unless they had to do so. Most people in the town are running errands or doing housework. It’s around four in the afternoon; some people are even starting to cook dinner. It won’t be dark for, oh, perhaps another two hours.

There’s a hawk circling high above the abandoned churchyard tucked beneath the cliffs. It soars easily on the wild winds. John Laurens sees its silhouette against the sky and tracks its path until it sails above the cliff and out of sight.

He doesn’t feel the wind down below in the shadow of the cliff, not just yet, but it is quite cold. He’s sitting on a high, mossy stone wall, kicking his legs and feeling his fingers start to go numb. John’s not sure what he’s waiting for. Maybe he’s waiting for someone to come get him and bring him somewhere safe. Maybe he’s waiting until he’s too cold to stay here any longer. Maybe he’s waiting until his body is numb enough that his mind goes numb too. There are tear tracks down his face and the events of an hour ago ache like an open wound.

“Why am I so stupid?” John asks the sky. The world doesn’t seem to have answers for him. He’s gone through in his mind all the things he could have done better. Shouldn’t have lied about dating Eliza. Shouldn’t have come out to  _ anyone  _ at school, let alone enough people for it to get back to Martha. Shouldn’t have believed Martha wouldn’t snitch on him in revenge. Shouldn’t have neglected to tell Francis the official story. Shouldn’t have believed that Francis wouldn’t crack under pressure. Shouldn’t have ever told his siblings.

But he’s done all those things and there’s nothing he can do to save himself now. He’s been kicked out of his house. His father's harsh words still echo in his ears. He’s not safe anywhere anymore.

He has no plan. He sits there, motionless, waiting for everything to be okay. After a few minutes, he hugs his knees to his chest and hides his face. It’s half an hour before he moves again.

Storm clouds gather. Thunder cracks. He doesn’t hear it.

He jumps down from the wall, wincing as his feet hit the ground a little too hard. He decides he’ll go to the stream at the base of the cliffs. It doesn’t matter if it’s cold; that might actually help him feel better. He walks between the gravestones and past the crumbling remains of the old church, leaving his bike leaning against a fallen-down wall. He does pick up his backpack. Grieving for everything he’s lost isn’t enough to erase all of John’s self-preservation.

He sits on the edge of the bank. The water is high, wide, and fast, but it hasn’t overflowed yet. He dangles his feet in the water; he’s wearing Keenes, luckily. He doesn’t think he would drown if he jumped in. It’s probably not so fast that he couldn’t swim. He’s only slightly tempted to try it.

He decides to cross the creek and go climb the tree in the field on the other side. He loves that tree, even though he’s always scared the branches will break underneath him. Today, though, he’s not so worried about that. He stands up, gets a running start, and leaps across the creek. He doesn’t make it.

He can see it coming. He slips in the mud just before he jumps and doesn’t make it to the other bank. And there he is, being swept away by the current. It takes him almost ten seconds to react. It takes him two minutes of breathless struggle and going under three times for him to finally crawl out, panting. His limbs ache with exhaustion, but at least he still has his backpack on, and the contents don’t seem to have gotten wet.

It starts to rain and John is sure that he’s doomed. He’s not going to make it back home-- even if he was welcome at home. There’s going to be lightning, and thunder, and he’s already freezing. He’ll get hypothermia and die and there’s no one who can save him at this point. He’s too tired to get up, but he manages to take his soaking shirt off and put on his raincoat. That’s a little better. He’s still going to die, though, unless the storm clears up. He curls into a ball and tries not to cry.

Meanwhile, across town, Alexander and Eliza are biking desperately fast, skidding around every corner, splashing through puddles. Alexander isn’t even wearing a helmet. He’s not scared, well, at least not scared for his safety. Even through the wind and rain, he can hear her breathing heavily. She swears afterwards she could hear his heartbeat from a few feet away. They ride with manic energy and all-consuming terror. They reach the top of the hill above the valley and abandon their bikes.

“Do you see him?” Eliza asks. Alex looks across and spots a figure huddled by the side of the stream-- or at least he thinks it’s a figure, whoever or whatever it is is covered in a neon-yellow raincoat. (It’s John, of course, but Alexander cannot tell at this distance.) He points. “There. Maybe.”

Eliza bends down, ties her hiking boot quickly, and straps down the sleeves of her coat to keep them away from her hands. “I’m ready.”

Alexander meets her eyes, takes a deep breath, and starts running downhill, keeping his eyes on the neon splotch. Eliza follows, only a step behind. He stumbles a bit, halfway down the hill, and she grabs his shoulder to steady him. He turns to her and takes her hand. They run together towards the bright spot in the distance.

And there’s John, hair soaked, lying on his side, a backpack on his shoulders. Alex can’t see if he’s breathing. He runs to John’s side, Eliza behind him. John’s eyes are closed and when Alex sits on the ground and touches his face, he doesn’t move.

Eliza’s a few feet away; she’s texting the Washingtons in the hope that they’ll come to help out, whatever needs to be done. The Washingtons are cool in a crisis. They’ll drive John to the hospital, or take him to their house, or something like that. She doesn’t want to think about John dead, so she’s not going to consider what they might do if he is gone. She’s really not planning to consider that, yet a voice in her head says that the Washingtons would be able to give him a good funeral. She bites her lip and types.

“John? John! John, please,  _ please _ !”

Alexander grabs John’s shoulders, a bit roughly, pulls him onto his lap, hugs him tight, feeling for his heartbeat. “John, no, no, no, please…” He’s so pale, so cold, all color and life washed out of him. Alex starts to cry. He wails John’s name again as if that will make him okay.

John stirs, just a bit. “Mm?”

“You’re alive,” Alex whispers.

Eliza hurries to them and sits next to Alex and John in the mud. John opens his eyes to grin at the two of them. “You found me.” He reaches out to clutch at Eliza’s hand; his fingers are freezing and blue with cold. Alex squeezes him tighter.

“Of course we did. Oh, love. What happened?” John’s smile fades.

Eliza interrupts. “No, don’t answer that. We need to get you somewhere safe. I texted the Washingtons to come pick us up. Is that okay?” 

John nods. “Alex, help me get him on his feet. We’re going to have to walk uphill.”

Alex pushes John’s hair off his face. “Okay, you need to get up. Can you do that for me?” Eliza pulls him up by the hand while Alexander struggles to get on his own feet, still holding John around the waist. They manage to get him up to a standing position. The three of them stagger across the field, John leaning heavily on Alex and Eliza on either side. Both of them can hear John’s teeth chattering.

Climbing the hill is harder. They’re about halfway up when John stumbles and falls. Both of them fall with him, but they slide only a few feet down the hill before Alexander and Eliza’s joint efforts stop them. When they finally make it to the road, Eliza has a scraped elbow, Alexander has a cut on his cheek, John has skinned both his knees, and all three of them are shivering like mad and soaked to the skin below the waist. Eliza’s raincoat is torn; her shirt is wet below the rip.

The Washingtons are waiting, dependable as ever. The three of them scramble into the car, and neither George nor Martha blink as their car’s seats become sopping wet. Martha hands Eliza a thermos of hot apple cider. The three of them pass the bottle around, drinking straight from it; they don’t have the energy to bother with cups. John’s crying quietly; Alexander is doing his best to calm him down, murmuring in his ear and squeezing his frozen hands, stroking his wet hair. Eliza talks to the Washingtons. They make a plan.

They arrive at the house where the Washingtons and Alexander live. The five of them stumble inside. Martha takes charge and Eliza becomes her ready and willing second-in-command. George cooks dinner while the three of them dry off, change into dry clothes, and bandage their scrapes. Eliza convinces John to take a shower. He doesn’t have the energy to protest, and he finds that he feels just a bit better under hot water, although he’s still chilled to his bones. He sits in the bathroom, which is full of steam, and stares at his reflection in the mirror for about a minute. He’s paler than he usually is, and his eyes are red and puffy, but he likes the way he looks in the hoodie he borrowed from Alex. Standing there, it fully sinks in that he’s going to survive this. He’s alive, and even though he’s still so cold it aches, he’ll be warm again, and he’ll be safe again, even if he never truly feels safe.

Downstairs, Alex is sitting at the kitchen table, arguing with Eliza about the exact details of David Ramsay’s misadventure with four (three?) gallons of milk and fourteen (sixteen?) dodgeballs. Martha and George are cooking, in perfect tandem, staying out of each other’s way with practiced ease. John steps into the kitchen and Alex turns toward him so fast he almost falls out of his chair.

“John! Babe, c’mere. Tell Eliza she’s wrong.” Alexander pats the seat next to him, which he’s pulled close to his own chair. John sits down and hugs Alexander close, breathing in the smell of him. “You’re wearing my hoodie,” Alexander remarks.

“I don’t have clothes at your house, I had no choice. Eliza’s also wearing your hoodie, and she  _ does  _ have clothes at your house, so don’t call me out. And what is Eliza wrong about?”

“True, true,” Alexander concedes. “Eliza’s claiming that David Ramsay pulled the milk-dodgeball thing with only three gallons of milk.”

“Alexander. I love you to death, but Eliza’s right.”

“What? I was there, it was four!”

“Love, I was there too. It was three.”

Martha shushes them. “John, have some tea. It’ll help you warm up. Dinner will be ready in about five minutes, and until then, you can relax and not murder each other over the exact number of milk gallons. John’s had a rough day. I think we all have.”

John disentangles himself from Alexander and takes the mug Martha hands to him gratefully. “Thank you.” Martha nods, then darts over to stir a pot on the stove. 

Wrapping his arms around John’s shoulders, Alexander murmurs into his ear. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Eliza gets up from her seat and slides into a chair on John’s other side. “So am I. Thank you for being here, my friend.”

Alex smiles. “Yeah, love. Thank you for existing at all, really. You are so good. So, so good.”

John can’t speak for fear he might start crying, but he puts an arm around each of them and holds the two of them tight enough that they know what he means to say.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, please comment; that comprises most of my motivation, and I'm always looking for feedback.


End file.
